The double-decker bus hissed as it pulled away from the curb, its tires splashing through the slushy remnants of the evening's sleet. Elena sat in the very first row of the upper deck, her forehead pressed against the vibrating glass. The window was a canvas of condensation and raindrops that blurred the neon lights of South Kensington into streaks of hazy gold and neon pink.
She felt hollow. It wasn't just the cold or the exhaustion; it was the realization that after seven years, the power dynamic hadn't changed. Arthur was still the sun, and she was still the planet orbiting his gravity, waiting for his light or suffering in his shadow.
"Get in the car, Elena."
His voice echoed in her mind, sounding more like a command than a plea. That was the problem. He had spent so long becoming a "monster" to protect her that he had forgotten how to just be a man who loved her. He saw her as a piece on his chessboard—a queen to be protected, yes, but still just a piece.
She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Not from the cold, but from the adrenaline of screaming at the two most influential men in her past. For the first time, she had chosen herself over their drama, but the victory felt lonely.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Arthur Montgomery (22 missed calls).
WhatsApp: Ririn (15 messages).
She opened Ririn's chat. The messages were a frantic mix of Indonesian slang and panic.
"EL! Where are you?! Arthur just called me crying—well, not crying, but he sounded like he was about to jump off the Shard!"
"El, please answer. He told me about Oliver. That snake! Don't let him get near you!"
"Elena, if you don't answer in 5 minutes, I'm calling the London police and telling them a bule kidnapped my best friend!"
Elena sighed and switched the phone off completely. She didn't want to be found. Not yet. She needed to breathe air that didn't smell like Arthur's expensive cologne or Oliver's lies. She needed to find the one place in this grey, concrete labyrinth that felt like the tropical humidity of her home.
The bus wound its way toward Queensway. As she looked out at the rows of Victorian townhouses, she thought about her father. Arthur was right—her father had been cruel. He had looked at the scholarship boy with the messy hair and seen a threat to his daughter's future. But her father's cruelty didn't excuse Arthur's silence.
"I wanted to be enough," he had said.
Elena closed her eyes. "You were always enough, Arthur. You just didn't believe it."
Back at Montgomery Corp, the atmosphere was suffocating. Arthur stood in the middle of his office, his chest heaving. The shattered glass of his whisky tumbler lay on the floor, reflecting the red emergency lights of the building.
"Where is she?" Arthur's voice was a low, dangerous growl.
James, his assistant, stood by the door, sweating despite the air conditioning. "Sir, the GPS on her phone was cut off near South Kensington. We've checked the CCTV of the nearby stations, but the snow is making visibility difficult."
Arthur grabbed a chair and flung it across the room. The sound of wood splintering against the wall echoed through the silent office. "I don't want excuses! I want her! If she's out there in this cold because of me..."
He stopped, his throat tightening.
He remembered the way she had looked at him before she ran—not with love, not even with the familiar anger, but with disgust. She had looked at him the way she looked at Oliver.
That thought was a physical blow. He had spent seven years trying to be the opposite of Oliver. Oliver was a manipulator; Arthur wanted to be a provider. Oliver was a liar; Arthur wanted to be a builder. But in his obsession with "building" a world for her, he had built a cage.
He grabbed his phone and did something he swore he'd never do. He dialed a Jakarta number he had memorized years ago but never dared to call.
"Halo?" a sharp, confused voice answered.
"Ririn. It's Arthur."
There was a long silence on the other end, followed by a string of Indonesian curses that Arthur only half-understood. "You! You dare call me after seven years? Do you know how many nights Elena cried because of you, you giant bule freak?!"
"I know, Ririn. I know I'm a bastard," Arthur said, his voice breaking—a sound James had never heard in his life. "But she's gone. She ran into the snow, and I can't find her. Please... tell me where she goes when she's hurt. Please. I'll give you anything. I'll buy you a skyscraper. Just tell me where she is."
Ririn's voice softened, just a fraction. "A skyscraper won't fix this, Arthur. But... if she's really Elena, she's looking for home. Check the place in Queensway. The one with the bad decor and the best tempe in London. If she's not there, then God help you, because I won't."
Arthur didn't even say thank you. He grabbed his keys and ran for the lift.
The 'Warung Ibu' was a tiny slice of Jakarta tucked between a dry cleaner and a Turkish kebab shop. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fermented soybeans and sweet soy sauce. It was a humble place—mismatched plastic chairs, a calendar from 2024 still hanging on the wall, and the constant hum of a small television playing Indonesian soap operas.
Elena sat in the corner, her fingers wrapped around a warm glass of jasmine tea. The 'Teh Botol' sat empty next to her plate of tempe mendoan. The saltiness of the batter was the only thing that felt real.
"You look like a cat that's been caught in the rain, Nduk," Bu Siti said, leaning against the counter. She had been in London for thirty years, but her heart was still in Central Java.
"I feel like one, Bu," Elena replied in Indonesian, the words feeling like a soft blanket on her tongue. "I came here to build something beautiful, but all I'm doing is fighting ghosts."
"Ghosts only have power if you keep looking back at them," Bu Siti said wisely. "Eat your tempe. It's better when it's hot."
Suddenly, the door rattled. The bell rang with a frantic, desperate chime. Arthur stumbled in, looking like a man who had just walked through a war zone. His expensive white shirt was soaked through, clinging to his chest, and his hair was matted with melting snow.
He didn't look like a CEO. He didn't look like a Montgomery. He looked like the boy who used to wait for her outside her piano lessons—lost, desperate, and completely hers.
He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes searching hers until he found what he was looking for: she was safe.
Arthur walked over and, without a word, dropped to his knees on the linoleum floor.
"Arthur, get up," Elena whispered, her heart breaking at the sight of his pride crumbling.
"No," Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and took her hand. His skin was ice-cold. "I'll stay here. I'll stay here until you realize that I would give up every brick of that gallery just to see you smile again. I've already sent the order, El. Julian is out. I'm liquidating his shares. The board is screaming, the lawyers are panicking, and I don't care."
He looked up at her, his blue eyes raw and red. "I forgot that the building doesn't matter. Only the architect does. I'm sorry I tried to command you. I'm sorry I let them touch your work. Please... come back to me. Not to the office. Just to me."
Elena looked at him—this man who had the world at his feet but was currently kneeling on a dirty floor in Queensway. She felt the last of her "merajuk" resolve dissolve.
"You're going to get sick, you idiot," Elena said, her voice trembling as she reached out to brush the snow from his forehead.
"I'm already sick," Arthur whispered, leaning into her touch. "I've been sick with missing you for two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days."
Bu Siti watched them from the counter, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "Nduk, take him home. He's making my floor wet with his drama."
Elena finally laughed—a small, tired, but genuine laugh. She squeezed Arthur's hand. "Let's go, Arthur. But you're buying me more tempe tomorrow. For breakfast."
Arthur stood up, his legs shaking slightly, and pulled her into a hug that felt like the end of a long, cold war. "I'll buy you the whole shop, El. I'll buy you the whole world."